Quincy Senior High School
C. S. P. A.
Editor Richard Cooke
Literary Margaret Higginbothnm
News Doris Dennison
Alumni Cabi Comoletti
Exchange Elizabeth Paragallo
<> Aune Wehter
Johes M arion M arr
Art Beatrice Barton
Albert Crowley '34 John Wilson "35
Vera Call, Muriel Goudey, Margaret Marr, Cutherine Walsh, Leslie Millard
Kntercd as seconcldnss m ntter, Jnnc ">. IBW.nl 1 1 1 ■ - Pott Office nt Boston, Mass,
under the Act of March 8, 1870
Who are we,
Who by the building of a wooden box
And the turning of a tiny dial,
May snatch from out a boundless void
The grandeur or the folly of the race —
Who by the power from a tube and wire
May harness elements to bring us sound —
And clear across the ether reach to hear
The stupidness or genius of men?
Who are we
Who have created this? .... We are Pandoras,
Whom time and reason yet must teach
To choose wisely from our enchanted box.
STEAK AND POTATO
First Prize Story
HUNCHEON had begun. Merely another meal of the two hundred-
odd that composed Copper Kettle's summer season. It was just a
pleasant interlude of good food to the guests and transients. But
to the kitchen crew it meant two hours of building "Rose Plate
Specials" from store and ice-box, of pushing mountains of dishes through
a one-tray washer, and of forcing minutes into seconds. To Dick Lowell,
bookkeeper and kitchen helper, it meant another fast inning of the hotel
game — a game of challenging opportunities. Dish washing is not exciting,
nor is adding figures, but in a summer inn almost anything can happen and
it usually does.
"I wish someone would wait on that hen party in the front room," Dick
was saying to a waitress. "The big lady in blue was cackling so loud I had
to stop 'phoning."
"I was just on my way. Anyhow, this is no time to be 'phoning your sick
aunts. Why — "
"Hey, Dick!" the cook informed, "there's a tramp at the back door."
A tramp there was and what a specimen ! From the shoulders down he
seemed a man in his thirties, but sad eyes peered from a face nearly hidden
by whiskers. This full beard was obviously grown to cover scars, for what
could be seen of his face was cut into mountains and canyons.
"I'd like to work for a meal, sir," the man told Dick.
. "I can't think of any work right now, but if you wait in the clothes yard
until after lunch, I'll get you some food."
"You seem to have been through quite a lot," remarked Dick, his curi-
osity overcoming his natural tact.
"I know the brush doesn't cover it all, " said the tramp sadly. "That
accident — excuse me, I guess my troubles couldn't interest you."
"But they do. The kitchen will not need me for a while. Please go on."
"0. K. If you are interested. Right after our honeymoon an auto carved
me up and sent me to the hospital. Everyday my wife would come to see
me. I knew she was wondering and fearing how I'd look when the band-
ages were off. One afternoon after my wife had gone, the 'doc' came in
and took off the bandages. When I looked into a mirror I wished I was
dead. I couldn't recognize myself. I knew that I could never hold my job.
I had been a sales-manager and a good one, too. Right then I decided that
my wife would never see me again. She hasn't. I slipped the hospital that
night, leaving a check to my bank account for my wife and a note telling
why desertion was necessary and that she could get a divorce. It was a
hard thing to do. I've been on the road twelve years. She remarried seven
years ago. But I — ."
"Dick, come in and help. We've got a rush !" came a summons from the
"Wait here. I'll be out later with something for you," shouted Dick over
Noise, odor, and haste dominated the kitchen. The hum of the washer
motor united the clitter-clatter of silver and china, the whir of the venti-
lators, and the thud-thick-thud of hurried steps into a wild song of haste.
The smell of boiling onions clashed with the sharp odor of soapy steam and
the pleasant aroma from broiling steaks. Everybody seemed to be rush-
ing to get nowhere by yesterday. No place could be so chaotic and yet so
efficient as the kitchen of a summer inn.
Dick entrenched himself at the receiving end of the washer and attacked
the stream of dripping hot dishes with a dry towel. While mechanically
drying the contents of tray after tray, he thought about the bewhiskered
tramp. Was his story true ? The man had told it with strong feeling as he
had probably told it to hundreds of others to gain their sympathy. It was
his "line", and he knew how to use it. If the story were true, the tramp
deserved a better "break" than he was getting now.
About twenty minutes later Dick went to the other end of the washer to
have a pile of plates re-washed. A waitress slid a tray onto the dish board.
"Your cackler must be dieting," she laughed to Dick. "Look — she
finished the onions and carrots, but just sampled the steak and left her
"Dieting couldn't hurt her any," Dick replied, "but she certainly threw
the best part of a dollar-fifty away."
Dick took the steak and the potato with some coffee and bread out to
"It would be rather embarrassing," mused the tramp as he pounced on
the steak, "if I should ever meet Elsie — she's got all the money she can
use, now ; but I beg for my meals. How different life would have been if
speed had meant less. I wonder if she ever thinks about me."
"I've got to get back to the dishes. When ycu get through, come to the
door and knock. I'll have some work for you to do."
The rush was at its height. Food was running low. Dick was dispatched
to the bakery for bread. When he came back by the clothesyard, he did
not see the tramp. He delivered the bread and bolted out to find the man.
The cup, plate, and silver were on the window sill. No food was left. It
[Continued <>n page 36]
Frances L. Carlson
The gold of sunset skies,
The deeper gold
Of sheaves of grain.
The blackbird rests on new-turned mould,
And softly chirps his sad refrain
'Ere he southward flies.
Soft rustles in the corn,
The softer brush
Of prairie grass;
Old Zephyr sighs, a moment's hush,
With lyric honks, geese stately pass,
— A melody is born.
How mildly wanes the evening light!
And still more mild,
With infinite trust,
Earth, like a drowsy, homing child,
Beneath the western stars seeks rest.
— Thus falls the Prairie Night.
THE ROMANCE OF NAMES
XWAS examining an atlas recently for the purpose of learning the
area of some obscure county in North Carolina, when my eye fell
on an attrative name — What Cheer. Immediately good old Grid-
ley County, or whatever it was, completely left my mind and I
lost myself in mental pictures of what a town with such a jolly name as
What Cheer could be like. I visioned a little hill-village, tucked in at the
edges with rambling stonewalls, and peopled by sturdy miners with their
crisp housewives and rosy-cheeked youngsters. However, I imagine I
should be much disillusioned if I should travel to my "little" What Cheer,
for statistics say its population is 1310, and probably it is as sober as any
New England town. But those are the chances you take in romancing with
geography. I hold that it is a fascinating game despite possible disillusion-
ment, for if you are at least a couple of thousand miles away, you will
probably never have the misfortune to discover that Ferndale has a skyline
as ferny as Quincy's, and that the keepers of Deer Park, Scotland, have
to go to a museum to see what that animal called the deer looks like.
When I was a child, Iceland was one of the most mysterious and excit-
ing places on earth to me. Somewhere, somehow, I had gained the idea
that it was, literally, a land of ice, and I can still remember the visions I
had of poor, little children who could suck only icicles for candy ! To this
day, with the resistless force of all my childhood imaginings behind me,
I cannot think of Iceland other than an expanse of ice, boasting a few ig-
loos and Eskimos, and the Northern Lights every night.
Thus can much of the romance connected with names be traced to fan-
cies of our childhood.
There are other reasons why we are attracted by the names of rivers,
mountains, and cities, and even nations. History plays an important part
in our tastes. A good many less, for instance, would sail up the Saint
Lawrence to Quebec each year, if the French and Indian War and the
blending of English and French history in that old town had not woven a
glamour about the name Quebec that is irresistible.
So it is with the river Tiber. What a sluggish and muddy river it is!
Yet who remembers that, when he thinks of such incidents as the heroic
battle of Horatio who kept back, almost single handed, a band of soldiers
from crossing the bridge, until it had been undermined by the men below.
Tiber doesn't spell romance in appearance, but it certainly does in history.
A wealth of beautiful and suggestive names can be had for the search-
ing on almost any trip, and the maps are covered with them. It is one of
my most treasured ambitions to, some day, go the rounds of all my fa-
JContinufd on page 38]
8 — ======= —
THE BUSH LEAGUER
Second Prize Story
S he slowly undressed
in the twilight of the
Bayview High School
locker room, the gloo-
my look on the face of "Red"
Baker gave evidence of his
More than midway through
its schedule, the highly-touted
Bayview basketball team had
done little more than earn an
even break. The fact that this
record was made only over the
"warm-up" teams on its list did
not give any added luster to the
achievement. In the five remain-
ing games, the squad faced its
fiercest combats, with Middle-
town and its crack outfit, their
traditional rivals, looming as an
Red had diagnosed his fellow
players and had come to the in-
disputable conclusion that poor
basket-shooting was the cause
of most of the team's defeats.
The Bayview athletes had developed a smooth, fast, passing attack, and
this factor alone had enabled them to keep clear of utter rout, for it seemed
that when the ball was in Bayview hands, the basket would emulate the
bear and go into hibernation. Baker wearily shook his head in disgust,
but he determined not to complain and so ran briskly out onto the gym
Although it was early in the afternoon, someone else occupied the gym
before him, — a tall, rawboned youth with a countrified manner. He was
doggedly and systematically shooting at the basket, letting fly with an un-
orthodox motion that brought the ball from between his knees. This style
was obviously no drawback, for invariably the ball slipped through the
Discovering his audience, the player staged an impromptu exhibition
and whirled about the floor shooting from all angles and making each shot
count. These shots, coming as it were from the nether regions, provided an
element of unexpectedness that was startling.
Red's imagination became active ; suppose that this element could be in-
troduced at a critcal point in a critical game. Would it not disconcsrt the
opponents? It certainly would!!
Rousing from his reverie, he rushed across the floor and interrupted en-
thusiastically, "Say! That's the best basket-shooting I've ever feasted
my eyes upon. Why weren't you out for the team?"
The stranger hesitated and then gave answer quietly, "I'm rather
ashamed to admit this, but I've never played a real game of basketball in
Red's excited exclamation shook an echo from the beams above. "What !
Never played? Then where did you learn to shoot baskets as well as you
More questions followed until it came out that the youth Bill Ripley was
a transfer from Sprucehead, Maine. Basketball was foreign to him be-
cause the town was so small it could not muster enough material to form
two teams. Bill, however, got hold of a ball and, after constructing a regu-
lation basket in his yard, had practiced for hours until he acquired the un-
canny skill which had astounded Baker. Having no one to imitate and no
one to correct him, he had developed a style peculiar to himself. That it
was effective, Red had seen.
Later that day, at the regular practice session, Baker expounded his
theory to the coach, and when the mentor had seen Ripley in action, he
agreed with Red that the idea was a reasonably sound one.
At the end of the practice session, however, the old apathy had returned,
for the newcomer from Maine did not prove to be the help expected. He
disrupted the entire passing attack and becoming excited, would shoot for
the nearest basket, making no distinction between his own and the opposi-
tion's. Notwithstanding these facts, the coach saw enough promise in the
boy to merit a uniform and so. one was doled out to him while instructions
were given Baker that he was to educate Ripley in the ways of basketball.
In the weeks that followed, Baker carried out his instructions faithfully.
Every afternoon would find the two in the gym practicing diligently. Red
taught Bill the fundamentals, but he did not drill him on the style of play ;
instead he had the youth concentrate on getting his shots away fast.
Meanwhile the Bayview team had continued to hold its own with great
effort, but they considered these preliminary games of little account, for
they were already anticipating for their objective game with Middletown.
The Middletown players, moving with speed and unison, continued the
wide swath they were cutting through the competition with an efficiency
that prophesied no good for Bayview.
As the day of the key game approached, the fruits of Red Baker's in-
struction became evident. Ripley played well, and the accuracy of his shoot-
ing was a joy to behold. The coach placed a great deal of hope in him and
matched it with a confidence in Bill, when the starting lineup was posted
the night before the big game, by establishing Bill at a forward post.
Dressing for the game the next day, Ripley vowed to push himself to
the utmost and not hamper his teammates by his lack of experience.
The referee's whistle started the game shrilly, and at the tap-off, Bill
leaped in towards the center. But before he could lay hands on the ball,
tripping himself, he fell fiat on the floor while the play went past him.
This caused his undoing and he went completely to pieces, snarling up the
attack of the hoopsters so badly that he was taken out before the end of
the first quarter.
As he walked to the bench, a wit among the spectators shouted, "Back
to the bush leagues with him !" The ripple of laughter this sally brought
rankled in Bill's mind as he dully watched the game proceed through the
Bayview's situation was desperate. By dint of extraordinary play they
had held Middletown to a fifteen point lead, but now the rain of baskets
was unnerving them. Nevertheless, as they lay panting on the floor in the
rest period, they tried not to appear discouraged. The coach knew their
feelings, however, and acting on an impulse born of necessity, he called
sharply, "Get in there, Ripley, and fight with all you've got and try to keep
your face off the floor !"
The fourth quarter of that game is history. Bill, apparently temporarily
demented, and certainly impervious to all shouts from the stands, played
like a regiment of tornadoes. He was everywhere ; taking a pass and, with
his deceptive motion, converting it into a score; blocking a Middletown
shot, and generally playing with a skill and polish that enabled Bayview
to overtake the opponents and knot the score at thirty-two all. With less
than a minute to play, Bill, in midcourt, received a pass and, gathering his
fleeting strength, hurled it basketward. Up, up, it soared, between the
rafters and, dropping like a plummet, won the game for Bayview when it
swished through the basket,
In the midst of the tumult which arose from five hundred voices, only
one shouted phrase lingered in Bill's ears, "No bush leagues for him, he
can have a whole major league for himself!!"
Frances L. Carlson
Today the wind caressed me with
A softer touch than yesterday;
Its freshness, rare and sweet, like wine,
On phantom wings bore me away.
It breathed a hope brim full of life;
It whispered tales of love and June.
It lured my fancies into dreams
Of sunny days, when joy is rife,
Of nights, in which a mellow moon
Gilds ev'ry rose-cup with her beams.
Then, all at once, I came to earth;
The wind was cold, the sky, austere.
My ravishing mirage was gone,
— Had faded, vanished in the air.
Charles H. Frome
These shall be three sad things —
The call of war —
The realization of a lost love —
And the death of a friend.
IN THE DEPTHS
^J^~> recover the bodies of the S-40's crew and salvage the submarine
M C\ was no easy matter, for she had sunk bow first after the Sea
%^_V Queen had struck her amidships, and buried her nose fourteen
feet into the mud and clay that formed the ocean floor. Neither
was it a very pleasant job hunting dead men on the bottom of the sea.
Tom Evans, one of the five divers on the Ellsworth salvage ship, was
seated on deck, his diving suit about his waist, busily soaping his wrists
before attempting to wriggle them through the tight wrist bands of his
rubber suit. When he had forced his hands through the cuffs, his tender
lifted the heavy breastplate and put it over Tom's shoulders, button-holing
it to his suit after smoothing down the bib inside. As soon as the lead shoes
were strapped on and the weights hooked up, the tender tested the radio
set within the helmet and screwed it to the breastplate.
With the aid of two sailors he reached the stage. His headgear and
breastplate weighed heavily on his shoulders as the stage swung up and
over the side. He heard a tap on his helmet — the signal that they were go-
ing to lower away. Down he dropped until the water swirled about his
shoulders and covered his face plate. A steady stream of bubbles rose
above him. All about was the yellow-green water in which there darted
The stage came to a halt at twenty feet. Tom grasped the descending
line nearby which was moored to the submarine.
"Off stage. Lower away !" he called into the transmitter as he started
downward, hand over hand. Above him his life-line and air-hose faded out
of sight, and below, the line also disappeared. It was like climbing from
nothingness to nothingness. Deeper and deeper he dropped, opening his
air valve to increase the pressure within his suit to cope with that of the
water which grew with the added depth. His helmet no longer weighed up-
on his shoulders, for the compressed air bore it up.
A dark shape appeared below and a minute later he heard a dull clang
as his heavy shoes struck the deck.
"On the bottom!" he shouted, his voice thick and lifeless under the in-
creased pressure. Evans waited impatiently for the second diver who was
to help him. Finally he saw a pair of lead shoes take form above him and
soon Phil Andrews was standing close by on the sloping deck, a powerful
light hooked to his belt.
Together they went to the rent amidships and crept in, carefully tend-
ing their air-hoses from the sharp edges. Turning sideways Evans forced
his way through the narrow doorway into the control room. Andrews
followed. Obviously the water had rushed in too quickly to be checked, for
the submarine was open all the way to the torpedo room.
The first body was found just inside the second door where the rush of
water had caught the poor devil before he could escape. Gingerly Evans
grasped it beneath the arms and pulled it after him into the control room.
He felt quite relieved when he had left that awful sight behind him near the
conning tower. Gliding back he found Andrews tugging at a mass of
wreckage dislodged when the S-40 had struck the ocean floor. Tom saw
him signal and when he answered, Phil pointed to a yellow-haired lad a
few years younger than themselves caught beneath it — a look of horror
still imprinted upon his face. Unknowingly Evans swallowed a lump that
had risen in his throat.
Obeying Phil's signal, he attempted to shift the wreckage in order to
release the body. He stepped to one side, after a few tries, to rest a bit and
and see how the other diver was getting along. Suddenly he saw the heap
waver and begin to fall his way. Involuntarily he shouted, nearly deafen-
ing himself. He tried to step aside, but his air-hose was caught on a pro-
truding valve. He did not dare to tug the line. The next instant the wreck-
age struck and, though it missed him, he was filled with added horror as
he saw the severed end of his air-hose from which the life-giving air was
streaming in a myriad of silvery bubbles. The little air left in his helmet
was rapidly growing foul. He struggled to keep upright for he knew the
air would spill out if he fell. His ears began to throb and he felt himself
growing dizzy. Tom began to gasp and choke as the air deadened and all
the horrible fantasies of a dying man filled his brain. Peace settled upon
him as he sank to the floor.
Andrews was filled with terror at what had happened. Frantically he
raked his brain for some method by which he might save his friend from
almost certain death. Just then his eye fell upon a loop of Evans' air-hose
caught in the wreckage. Ripping his razor-sharp knife from its sheath,
he cut it loose and pulled the freed end down, then knelt beside the uncon-
scious diver and slit the suit just below the breastplate. Into this he thrust
the end of the hose from which the bubbles rose steadily. A breath of re-
lief passed his lips when he saw the air bubbling through the escape-valve
of Evans' helmet.
With the inert diver thrust before him, he managed to get through to
the jagged break in the submarine's shell. From this he hurried to the
mooring line. He was breathing heavily ; the thick air did not seem to fill
his lungs. The line was cut in a second from where it was held and he
grasped it firmly with one hand. The other still clutched the unconscious
diver. [Continued on page 38]
NIGHT IN A HOUSE BY THE SEA
I lie at night and listen to the waves upon the beach,
And think — It must be God I hear, in wordless, wonderful speech.
A whisper low of something sad, a breath of mystery,
Waves that wash the ageless sands of shores across the sea,
The tall, dim ghosts of sunken ships, and all infinity
Come through my open windows and, silent, speak to me.
A lonely, faithful lighthouse-beam, a lobster-boat in the haze,
Graceful gulls against grey skies — such visions charm my gaze.
I lie at night and listen, and the waves upon the shore
Sing my soul an old, strange song, a song I've heard before:
It sings in the rushing roar of surf, in a fog-horn's haunting call;
Dawn's grey mist can bring it, too, when sails hang limp and tall;
It moves through the long, smooth surge of a yacht, in the wind, in the
beat of the rain,
In the nautical smell of oakom, like an old friend back again.
It stirs in me vague longings, goes through me sweet and strong,
And I pray my soul may never lose the clear, fresh charm of that song.
DURGA THE WONDERFUL
An Experience of m^ grandfather, a Baptist Missionary in India
S I jogged along the Grand Trunk road in my trap, I saw in
the distance, a great throng of Hindus congregated under a pepal
tree. In their midst was a newly carved statue of Durga, which
was being worshipped by the people.
I stopped my horse and hailed the haughty Brahmin priest.
"What is this great "puja" (worship) ?"
"It is nothing the Sahib-dog would understand, but this I will tell you ;
the people of the village have suffered greatly from cholera for two years
and since there is no temple to Durga here, they have had an image made
so that at her pleasure Durga will remove the curse. I am here to invoke
the spirit of the goddess and 'after this puja, Durga will dwell in the idol,"
the surly Brahmin replied.
"That's all stuff and nonsense; how can a god be in a stone?"
"We know it is a stone, for the man that carved it is in our midst, but
you do not realize that all Hindus have progressed further in religion than
The ceremony began, drums sent forth that weird, throbbing challenge ;
dancers took their places, and as the ceremony progressed, leaped wildly,
uttering wild heart-rending shrieks like frenzied devils. Faster and faster,
wilder and wilder, louder and louder, until at last wearied, panting, and
breathless the dancers dropped, and a ceremony of prayers began. A goat
was killed as a sacrifice and its blood, still warm, sprinkled over the idol,
and the people fell down and worshipped it rubbing oil and red ochre over
"Does the spirit of Durga dwell in the idol yet?" I put the question to
the Brahmin priest, at the end of the ceremony.
"Yes!" came the emphatic reply.
"How would it be, "I said, "if I should give that greasy, slimy Durga a
slap?" The priest, when he had recovered his voice, answered even as he
paled at the thought.
"Don't do it, you'll drop dead."
I ambled over as calmly as I could and to the horror of the worshipping
people, gave the idol a terrific slap — nothing happened! "You'll die to-
night," the disgusted Brahmin muttered.
There was a deep well nearby and to show further the sham of the
priests, I said, "If I drop Durga into the well, and she flies out of the well
by herself and sits under the pepal tree, then and only then will I worship
the stone goddess myself." To this the Brahmin moaned and dazedly be-
gan to implore me not to do it in terror of my life. I picked up the huge
image and staggering to the well's edge watched her sink with a terrific
I was covered with red ochre and oil but triumphant and. I guess, more
daring than before, for I said to the Brahmin ; "Goodbye until next week."
I hopped lightly into my trap and started home whistling contentedly.
"You won't be alive next week !"
A week later I set out again to visit the pepal tree. While still a great
distance away, I saw an even greater throng of Hindus assembled. A way
was opened at my approach and the triumphant face of the Brahmin priest
with a grin not unmingled with contempt appeared. "Sahib," he said, "now
you too must fall down and worship Durga." I was at loss for word or
action when my eye fell on a Bhisthi Mohammedan water carrier, who
hated the Hindus because they were idolators. He was almost in hysterics.
I suspected that he might know something that would prove the sham of
the priest. The Bhisthi, only too glad to furnish something that would
bring ridicule to the Hindus and the Brahmin priest said : "Last night
these men were frantic because they knew you were coming today and Dur-
ga was as deep in the well as before. One of the men found out that my boy
could swim and dive, so he paid him eight annas (twelve cents) to dive for
Durga. He tied a rope around Durga's neck and they hauled her up.
The chagrinned and dejected Brahmin priest hurriedly disappeared in-
to the arms of the crowd.
Hurrah, it is autumn! The wind is about,
The rollicking, frolicking breezes are out,
And all of the leaves, when the North Wind heaves,
Go sailing to Kalamazoo!
Hurrah, it is autumn! The bonfires glow,
The blushing and flushing red apples must grow
Till they hang on the trees like lazy old bees,
Just ready to drop to the ground.
Hurrah, it is autumn! Deep blue is the sky,
The hurrying, scurrying squirrels frisk by.
And all is a rush, with no time to hush,
Till winter comes stealth'ly to stay.
But oh, and hurrah! It is autumn to-day,
The airiest, merriest season, I say!
And life is just fine — no reason to whine —
Be happy! It's autumn — hurrah!
THE KING OF JAZZ
An Intervietv with Paul Whiteman
By William Coleman
FTER leading stage man-
agers and secretaries a
merry chase throughout the
backstage of the Keith-
Boston Theatre, I finally and thank-
fully found myself in the dressing
room of Paul Whiteman, "The King
of Jazz." It was a typical dressing
room, such as is now found in all the
countries' biggest theatres, — large
and clean with at least ten mirrors
placed at different angles around the
walls. Here in the midst, Paul
Whiteman was busily and efficiently
making up his rotund face to appear
before the glare of the spotlight.
The so-called "ice was broken" when I ventured that it was not so hard
to see him as would be supposed. Was it because he was not so "big as he
used to be?" (I recalled his famous diet.) At this bit of would-be humor,
Mr. Whiteman graciously but heartily laughed, putting me fully at ease.
Feeling that we had both properly introduced each other, Mr. White-
man decided that we should "get down to business" and prepared himself
for the usual questions that are asked by interviewers.
From him I learned that his father is supervisor of music in the Denver,
Colorado Schools. Paul began his own musical career as first viola player
(whatever that is) in the Denver Symphony Orchestra; in 1915 he held
the same position in the World's Fair Orchestra in Chicago. (This was
only a fair orchestra.) It fared well, however, and gave him a fine local
reputation. During the World War he led the U. S. Navy Band and then
formed his own orchestra in San Francisco. It was while he was there
that he originated the style of playing that was to earn him the title "The
King of Jazz."
Whiteman has been generous in backing ambitious radio stars, the most
famous of these being the incomparable Bing Crosby. Crosby was first
with Mr. Whiteman as a member of a trio named the "Rhythm Boys." It
was while Bing was with the group that he attracted the attention of
(Continued on page 35)
An Intervietv with "Little Jack" Little
By Ed Pearlin and Joe Ford
S "Little Jack" sauntered off
the stage of the "Met" after his
performance, we knew his
nickname was indeed appro-
as he stood but five feet four
His shoulders, however, were
large enough to put a taller man to
His increasing popularity is easily
understood when one has an opportun-
ity to speak with him. His very engag-
ing and magnetic personality, and pleasant face put us at ease as he said
he'd be glad to answer our questions.
Mr. Little told us that he came from Kansas City about fifteen years ago
as one of the original "Tinpan Alley" composers. With radio popularity
he was one of the first musicians to achieve a name for himself. He
modestly told us that his songs were so poor that no publishers would ac-
cept them, and he was forced to introduce them over the radio.
It is hard for us to believe this, knowing that he is the author of some
of the most popular hits including, "Jealous," "Oceans of Love by the
Beautiful Sea", "Shanty in Old Shanty Town", "Baby Parade", and "The
Wooden Soldier and the China Doll."
His forte as everybody knows is the piano, but he also plays the violin and
several wind instruments.
Confidentially, he is a golf bug, and shoots around in the seventies, but
he has been so busy that, though he brought his clubs, he has not had a
chance to play.
He is married and claims New York as his home city where on his re-
turn he will start a steady run with his present orchestra at Hotel Lexing-
ton. His present group of boys is the first orchestra he ever organized. In
our opinion they are equal to any contingent we have ever heard.
"What do I think of Boston? Well, I have only been here twice playing
five and six shows a day, so ."
Still thinking of his meaning, we shook hands and left, but not before
promising a chance to see himself in Golden Rod print.
ON THE AIR
As this issue carries out the radio motive, it is an appropriate if not
good idea for this writer to express her latent views on a pet topic of our
day — radio as an aid to education. That radio is fast becoming an almost
essential factor in education there is little doubt. Its benefits are numer-
ous, and, fortunately, available to most students. Regarded as a supple-
ment to, rather than as a substitute for, book-learning, regularly spon-
sored programs, not to mention "special features," offer to the student
capable of applying it a wealth of knowledge — facts of current history
which oral delivery vitalizes more than books and records ever could, and
past history clearly interpreted in a manner far more expressive, and thus
impressive, than the printed page. Authoritative talks and lectures em-
bracing a variety of subjects from insects to foreign affairs are sent over
the air waves to enrich our leisure moments, while the ever-handy news
flashes and commentaries aid many a Problem of Democracy student in
appearing well-informed on timely economic and social questions. And
finally radio serves to elevate the American speech. We have become word-
conscious because such announcers as Bill Haye, Carleton Dickerman, and
John Holbrook have taught us correct pronunciation and inflection, often
by sending us scurrying to Webster's, only to find that culinary is right.
If your beliefs are similiar, reach for the dial instead of a balcony ticket.
Over almost every broadcast from station Q. H. S. we hear the battle cry
of equality from the Nertzies. "Five cents for ice-cream" is the war song.
And why shouldn't it be, say the sympathizers. This is a country founded
on equality, our ancestors fought for it, and here are we on the noble
battle ground ready to take up arms against the foes. "Nertzies for all,
all for the Nertzies." Still some spirit in the bodies of youth, isn't there?
But wait, there must be some solution. If a world war could end in a box
car, then shouldn't the differences-of-a-penny war be ended within the four
brick walls of — no, not prison — but Quincy High School?
We went to headquarters to interview Maestro Collins on this great and
momentous question and we gained the following information: Our high
school is run on a basis that aims to make accounts balance each year — no
more, no less. Senior High's cafeteria is of necessity run on a larger scale
than any other schools in our city. There are more helpers, larger scale
production, two hot dishes instead of the usual one, larger and richer bowls
of soup than can be sold for less than five cents, and free crackers for
soup and free nabiscos for ice-cream. The school usually allows to lose
money on the hot dishes, but the balance is made up by the sale of cake,
ice-cream, and candy. Through the preceding years, the amount realized
from cake and candy has not been sufficient to reduce the price of ice-
We realize the demand of an explanation for the Nertzies is required.
They have a right to it, and we know that such a spirit now, rightly ex-
ercised, may even avert a depression in the future.
But listen, Nertzies! You forgot about the Student Council when you
started your campaign. Theirs is the job to keep things running smoothly,
and keep everyone satisfied as far as it is within their power. We, as an
entire school, should remember our Court of Justice and through its help
in the future we may save public explanation and Maestro Collins' hair.
New Boohs in the Library
Reviewed by Betty Paragallo
HOUSE OF EXILE
XMAGINE living for many years in exotic China as the adopted
daughter of the aristocratic Lin family. This is what happened
to Nora Wain, Philadelphia Quakeress. Her tale of life in the
"House of Exile" takes you to a China seldom found within the covers of a
book. There she lived in the most sheltered court of the homestead — the
Springtime Bower, considered to be the only safe place, in a Chinese home-
stead, for a "maiden of marriageable age." Close beside this was the Gar-
den of Children where the children of the family lived and studied their
lessons in the schoolroom court, a peaceful retreat with dividing walls of
colorful tile. "The Place of the Meeting Winged Friends", "Court of the
White Jade Rabbit", and "Within the Orchid Door" are but a few of the
poetic names attached to various other courts of this expansive homestead.
After twelve years in the splendor of the Lin clan, Nora Wain married
a handsome Englishman in the foreign service at China. The first year of
her married life she was confronted with the servant problem. Her ser-
vant problem instead of being incompetency was the opposite. Since the
whole staff had been with her husband throughout his bachelor days,
they still regarded the "master's" word as law and thwarted all the prac-
tical jokes she tried to play on him. When she ordered roast lamb with
mint sauce for dinner, roast beef and Yorkshire pudding were invariably
served. Understanding and time soon straightened out all difficulties,
but for a while things were very amusing.
Society in Shameen where they later lived is very formal. No Chinese
are allowed to set foot on the island, which is strictly a Western Colony
made up of the officials stationed in the foreign service at Canton. The
women make their calls hatted and white-kid-gloved.
The remainder of the book tells of the political situation which was be-
coming more and more delicate. There are party uprisings, internal revo-
lutions, and the beginning of the present struggle with Japan.
Needless to say this delightful book is a real revelation of China.
Antoine DeSaint — Exupery
"Clear sky : no wind."
Fabien smiled. If such reports continued, he would end his flight ; if not —
A few hours later and Fabien knew the rest of the unfinished sentence, but
it remained unuttered for the treacherous blackness of night had taken
another hero of night flight duty. At home Madame Fabien waited in
torturous suspense; waited for what? — the wreck of a man and just
broken, cold steel. The once taut, fearless creature whose capable hands
had sent the silver plane plunging through the air, lay limp — , defeated, —
by a storm. The injustice of it!
Riviere, the noble chief behind all the pilots of this story, passionately
believed "that man's happiness lies not in freedom, but in acceptance of a
duty." He loved his men, but didn't show it. To make the night air-mail
service a success he had to go on regardless of the loss of lives. Thus
Riviere bore his heavy load of victory.
The shining courage of these men who keep their brave deeds in the
dark touches us, and our hearts go out to the women they leave behind.
Their lot is a constant prayer to the elements for a clear sky and a merciful
night. Such are the threads of a story as admirable for its literary qualities
as for the portrait of the pioneers of "Night Flight."
Our Contest Judges
Poetry Short Story
Mrs. Helen McCarthy Mrs. William Doble
Miss Elizabeth Stone Miss Georgiana Lane
Mr. Roydon Burke Mr. Frederick Coates
The "Golden-Rod" Editors wish to thank the
judges for the time given to the judging of our contest;
we greatly appreciate the interest which they showed.
C. H. S.
6 Sophomore day. Sophomores
enter school the day before
the juniors and seniors. Thus
the innocent newcomers are
not directed by the latter to
7 Big noise. The upper class-
22 The F.'34 "Golden Rod" Staff
Arrival of the F.'34 class
6 We view our football heroes
on the stage.
11 Miss Slattery speaks to the
girls and bovs ii the audi-
torium on "The Youth of the
12 Three cheers for Mr. Chris-
18 The papers announce that the
teachers will be paid in
20 The harriers of the school
defend Quincy's name at
26 Miss Raycroft and her high
senior preparatory classes
enjoy "Alice in Wonderland."
27 First social function of the
year — the Hallowe'en Dance.
31 Nertzies open their campaign
for lower ice cream and soup
4 Girls' Club hikes to the Blue
8 Sophomore Parents Night.
8-15 Displav in library of Stu-
As a result of the tremendous
enthusiasm of the boys of the
school for the radio, a Radio Club
has been organized with Mr. Hud-
son as faculty sponsor. The pur-
pose of the club is to incite among
the beys an interest in short wave
radios and also to train them to
become amateur operators, Al-
though the organization has only
recently started, several meetings
have been held at which the Morse
code has been studied. The group
have expressed the desire that
sometime they may be able to
establish a station at the High
School. The officers are: President,
John Christiansen; Vice-President,
David Sargent; and Secretary-
Treasurer, Clyde Bonyman.
In the school there is a very
promising group of young astron-
omers who constitute the Star
Club. These young people are
under the capable direction of Mr.
Thomas, popular head of the
Science Department. Although
there is no formal organization,
the results are very gratifying.
The group meets each Tuesday
afternoon. The purpose of the club
is to learn some of the constella-
tions and their names, the names
of the brightest stars, and inter-
esting facts concerning them. At
a recent meeting, astronomical
slides were shown which proved of
great value to the members. Ob-
servation nights have been held on
Third Hill and were most enjoyable
Sunny Weather — If you brought
your umbrella to school. Rain if
vou left it at home.
The Thalia Cllub, the honor
sorority for the girls of the school
held on Friday, October 20, the in-
itiation of new members. Amid
gales of laughter, thirteen new
girls were welcomed into this club.
The names of the newcomers are:
Gertrude Booth, Lillian Fleish-
man, Pearl Feldman, Norma Mac-
Leod, Nancy McGuire, Mildred
Melrose, Miriam Mattson, Helen
Rizzi, Ellora Sargent, Miriam
Stein, Edna Ruscitto, Ethel Amet,
and Virginia Viner.
At the first regular meeting of
the club, some teachers of the
school who visited the World's
Fair during the summer gave
short informal talks on what im-
pressed them the most. The
women teachei's were presented
with bouquets of flowers, and the
A neiv club, the Camera Club,
has been organized this year with
Mr. Buckingham as adviser. The
aim of the club is to learn how to
make good pictui-es. Developing,
photo-finishing, and enlarging are
also included in the course. The
members expect to add to their
ability and appreciation of the
artistry as well as of the tech-
nique of photography.
The club plans to have a bulle-
tin board of its own and from time
to time have displays of exhibition
and competitive photographs.
The officers of the club are:
President and Chairman of Ways
and Means Committee, Arthur
Fowler; Secretary-Treasurer, Ways
and Means Committee, Erna Koss;
Ways and Means Committee,
The Poetry Club, a rapidly grow-
ing organization of this school, has
started another year of its im-
portant existence. The club, which
includes the poetic genius of the
school, has a new adviser, Miss
Joy L. Nevens. The officers are:
President, Margaret Higginboth-
am; Secretary, Doris R. Dennison;
and Chairman of the membership
committee, Pearl Williams. Miss
Nevens, who has been affiliated
with other poetic groups, has in-
troduced novel methods for the
study and writing of poetry.
NEW BOOKS ARRIVE
These include the
following fiction group: Ayscough
— "Firecracker Land", Edna Fer-
ber — "Cimarron", Lawrence Mc-
Kinley Gould— "Cold", Carveth
Wells — "Adventure", Tomlinson — I
"The Sky's the Limit", Don Glass-
Why not be the first to read
MISS SLATTERY SPEAKS
Miss Margaret Slattery, nation- i
ally famed lecturer, visited our
school again on October 11. She
was greeted very enthusiastically
by the students. Contrary to the
custom of other years, Miss Slat-
tery included the boys of the school ;
in her audience. It was necessary,
owing to the enormous membership
of the school, to have two assem-
blies. There were several guests
present, including Reverend and
Mrs. Haskins, who are newcomers
to the city, Miss Harrison, and Mr.
This year, Miss Slattery's in-
spiring talk was on the subject of
"The Youth of the World." We
were introduced, by means of word
pictures, to boys and girls from
various foreign countries includ-
ing Russia, China, and India. By
the thrilling examples of their
leadership in times of changing
conditions and upheavals of ideas,
we were inspired by Miss Slattery
to do our share in shouldering a
great part of the burden of our
country in these trying years.
Quincy High wishes to take
this opportunity to thank Miss
Slattery for her lectures which
are so eagerly anticipated by all
the faculty and students.
By Malter Minchell
Flash — Quincy The sopho-
mores of Quincy High School are
certainly receiving a lot of atten-
tion this year. The first day of:
school was called "Sophomore
Day." The object was to let the
new r v Tid ever-welcome members ;
of the school learn their way
around without the assistance of [
the helpful ( ? ) juniors and
seniors. Hitherto, these novices
have spent much of their time in
search of fourth floor elevators to
which their enlightening brothers
and sisters have directed them. The
next thoughtful act tendered them
was the Sophomore-Parents Night.
This will ever be in the minds of
these children the memorable
night when their distinguished
elders were permitted to visit with
their teachers, touching here and
there throughout their conversa-
tion on rather delicate subjects
The first social function of the
year was the Hallowe'en Dance.
The gym was artistically decor-
ated in orange and black. Four
hundred tickets were sold this
year, fifty of which were for
guests outside the school (as these
sometimes come in handy) ....
There were several new teachers
added to the ranks this year: Miss
Marr and Miss Carville, who are
t lying to straighten out in the
rrinds of some of the students (?)
the differences between periods
and apostrophes; Miss Palmer, who
together with her pupils delves in-
to the recesses of books to find the
answers to such facts as "When
did Washington cross the Dela-
ware?" and Miss Reddy, who has
undertaken to produce the next
champion typist and bookkeeper . .
The rings for the February seniors
have arrived. They are very at-
tractive and arouse comment
whoever I hey are worn. Due to
the activities of the Blue Eagle,
however, when the second order
was mailed, the prices had ad-
vanced considerably (e'est dom-
mage) . . . Miss Florence Rizzi, a
very familiar figure in the office,
has been ill in the hospital. We
sincerely hope that her recupera-
tion is very rapid and that she will
soon be back with us ... At an as-
sembly in the early fall, Mr. Col-
lins made a statement which pro-
voked much worry among indul-
gent parents. In referring to the
question as to where to put the
juniors for chorus, he threatened
to solve the problem by throwing
these important people into the
Town River (gracious!!). Some-
thing apparently changed his mind,
and the matter was settled by
placing the girls in the senior
chorus and the boys in the sopho-
more chorus . . The girl cheer
leaders are back. My, what a relief
after an assembly where some of
the other sex tried to excite a
little enthusiasm in the audience.
At the first appearance of the
girls, the school was somewhat
animated, and between this atti-
tude and the pep of the girl
leaders, (after several attempts)
a rousing cheer was yelled . . .The
customary procedure of choosing
the "Golden Rod" Staff by vote of
the class members has been dis-
continued. The competitive method
has been adopted, whereby any-
one my try out for membership by
submitting material to be judged
by the "Golden Rod" faculty ad-
visers. It was through this process
that the present staff was chosen.
This concludes our broadcast for
the present . . . This is Malter
Minchell signing off and remind-
ing you that not all people have
*They whistle at every station.
TRAMP— TRAMP— TRAMP
Over there it was: —
Over the top.
No Man's Land.
Then it was: —
From the war.
To the music.
To outstreched arms.
The victorious parade.
Now it is: —
On Hunger Marches.
Nowhere to go.
For little ones.
In Bread Lines.
What is to come? —
Swinging a full
To wideflung arms.
Dragging from a
Hard day's work.
Louis Paragallo Feb. '32 Takes Us The Other
Side of The Mike
October 24, 1933.
To the Alumni Editor :
I appreciate greatly your request for a letter to the Alumni column of
the "Golden Rod."
Like the legendary busman on holiday, I am glad to hear of a "radio
issue" of the school magazine. Though I have done nothing that would
make very good copy, I have found the three years that I have spent in
radio work interesting. In radio you get practically all of the atmosphere
of the stage and screen without the disadvantages of a wandering life.
Therefore I would advise all of you who are greatly intrigued by visions
of a stage career to try radio first. However, you will find both lines
crowded, making it a matter of choice after all.
The major part of my radio experience has been gathered in the studios
of W L E, an independent Boston station with main studios in the Hotel
Bellevue on Beacon Hill. For some weeks I was connected with the Yankee
Network key stations, W N A C and W A A B. Since the latter stations are
also members of the Columbia Broadcasting System, it is quite interesting
to note their method of tying up the three outlets : Columbia, Yankee, and
the two locals — N A C and A A B. Thus a program may originate in New
York and be picked up or "tapped" by either of the local stations ; a local
program may originate locally and be sent up and down New England over
the Yankee tie-up; or it may be sent out only locally to the Boston area.
Besides these combinations, quite often a program is sent "down the pipe",
which is radio cant for a show that is broadcast only over the other member
stations of the network, and not through the key outlets, as is usually the
rule. So you see, there would be a good deal of room for a mix-up in timing,
were not the schedules scientifically and carefully made out. Obviously,
the minute is too large a fraction of time to be used in dealing with such
complications, and as a result, network programs are worked on the half-
There is a main control-room through which everything that goes on the
air passes. Connected by wiring with this is what is known officially as an
announcer's booth, usually a little six by ten cell with nothing in it but a
chronometer, a loudspeaker, a chair, and a microphone. Here the an-
nouncer sits (poor man) and waits the long hours through for "cuts" or
"breaks" as they are known, which mean simply station identifications or
announcements of the call letters, such as "W N A C in Boston."
These "cuts" come either on the half or the quarter-hour, or usually both.
Now, there is always a "cue" so that the local announcer may know when
it is exactly the time to make his "cut." These cues vary with the chains,
but on CBS programs it is : "This is the Columbia Broadcasting System."
When the local man hears the network announcer say this, he "punches in"
his own microphone by pushing a button on a control box before him. This
puts him on the air with his "cut" or news flash. The cue invariably
comes thirty seconds before the "nose" or exact half or quarter-hour. This
means that at the end of a fifteen-minute program the cue is given at
fourteen and one-half minutes past the hour, and on a thirty minute broad-
cast, the warning phrase is given at twenty-nine and one-half minutes
past. This leaves the announcer, who has cut in his mike at the cue, thirty
seconds to make his station announcement and news flash, at the end of
which he switches his mike off and the next program starts "on the nose"
or exactly on the hour or half-hour as the case may be.
The local announcements do not always consume the full thirty seconds
allowed them by the networks, and in event of such a shortage of material,
the remaining "dead air" or seconds of silence before the start of the next
program must be filled in by a "sustainer" which is usually a bit of music
or a run of bells or chimes played by some studio musician or recorded for
just such emergencies. Despite these many measures of caution, there is
often much confusion and scurrying about in radio stations to get pro-
grams off on time, which the smoothly-running broadcast does not betray
to the audience.
Altogether it is a pleasant business (but for the hours) and it is educat-
ing to meet the many personalities one does encounter in any form of the
May I say just one word to those thinking of looking for radio work? Do
not let yourselves be misled by the enormous sums reputed to be paid radio
announcers or artists, since one hears only of the headliners in each field.
For every one of these there are five hundred struggling plodders trying to
make network ends meet.
Thank you again for the privilege of writing you, and I suppose I should
Signing off :
eOOD afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, members of the Q. H. S.
faculty and studes : This is your favorite station, D-O-P-E bring-
ing you once again the greatest sports feature on the air— The
Today, I would like to tell you about a city in Massachusetts, Quincy by
name, which happens to possess the fightingest football team between the
two poles. I could stand here all day telling you about that team but I'm
not going to. I could tell you about the original Hard Luck Team, an out-
fit which possesses every quality essential to a consistent winner except
for that important item usually called Luck, but I'm not going to do that
either. I shall let you judge for yourself; as a matter of fact you are go-
ing to witness the major games of Quincy's season visualized for you by
your old standby, Red Hooey. — Here we go !
Well, folks, we're going into the last quarter of this Quincy-Melrose
game and there is still no score. These teams
have battled forty-five minutes in a deadlock
which must be broken this period. It's
Quincy's ball, first down on their own ten
yard line There's the pass from center
It's fumbled ! They're all diving for
that ball one minute, folks and we'll
tell you whose ball it is It's Melrose's
ball, first down and just listen to that crowd!
. . . They're lining up . . . The ball goes to
Brown . . . .He fades back! .... It's a pass!
.... and a tochdown ! The score is Melrose
6, Quincy 0.
Signals! 1-2-3-4-Hike !
We're broadcasting the game between the Tufts Jay Vees and Quincy
High .... It's Quincy's ball, first down on Tufts' 12 yard mark. Ordway
is back . . . The pass from center is poor ! . . . Ordway is smothered for a
four-yard loss . . . Second down, fourteen to go . . .Daley back . . . Again the
pass from center is bad and Daley is nailed for a two-yard loss . . . Third
down, sixteen yards to go . . . Malvesti passes to Troup for a six yard gain
. . . Malvesti passes again but the heave is grounded . . . Tough luck,
Quincy ! . . . Score Quincy 0, Tufts 0.
Here they come and the crowd roars! Quincy High's football eleven is
taking the field. The startinng lineup is Gookin, Service, Finn, Densmore,
Alfano, Hughes, and Smollett in the line, Baldovin, Malvesti, Daley, and
Ordway in the back field.
The score is Quincy 13, Brookline 6.
30^^ ^ — ^
Quincy's touchdowns were made by Baldovin on a line buck and by Daley
on a wide end run.
It's Quincy's ball at midfield. Ordway is back! He kicks! It's a long
spiralling boot ! It falls in the end zone ! Smollett, the flashy Quincy wing
is down under it and he falls on it over the goal-line and it's a touch-down.
The final score is Quincy 19, Brookline 6.
We're back in the studio again. We could have gone on and told you
how the Lynn Classical game was lost because of two blocked punts, how
the Newton game went because of poor booting and how a blocked kick
gave New Bedford the winning margin of 13-7. To date Quincy High has
played three undefeated contenders for the state schoolboy title and has
three more of the same calibre yet to play. Considering the type of oppo-
sition met, commendation in generous quantities is just what the doctor
ordered for the fighting warriors of the gridiron.
Today we're giving you a new slant on football from the view point of
the participant. Often the players of a team have much more interesting
thoughts than those of the manager or coach, and the worthy trio whose
thoughts are hereupon inscribed are no exception.
The three brutes who so graciously assisted ye humble scribe are "Pip"
Alfano and "Sam" Asnes, a duo whose sideboards and moustaches have
sent 9,346 local barbers to a certain institution located at Taunton, Mass.,
and Buck Densmore.
According to Mr. Alfano who holds down that portion of the line gen-
erally designated as left guard, the lineman has fully earned the title,
"The Forgotten Man." Mr. Alfano points out that the idea of submitting
to several sorts of mayhem in the line would be almost endurable if the
fan realized that in order that the four gazelles might romp lightly hither
and yon, the seven powerful, patient oxen must strive mightily. He is
also under the impression that if the fans gave the lineman his rightful
share of credit, there would be more candidates for those positions and
less feeling that the homage is unevenly divided.
It appears that Mr. Asnes enjoys the opening kick-off just about as much
as a polar bear would enjoy a winter in Florida. While the customary pre-
liminaries are taking place, ye quarterback is in a daze . . . Pep talk by
coach . . . Still in a daze. The team runs out on the field and ye quarter-
back finds that "your stummick don't seem to be there." The whistle shrills
and the game is on ! Gone is the daze. Returned is the absent stummick.
The game is on !
Mr. Densmore, whose job it is to deliver the oval from between his
sturdy legs into the hands of the waiting backs, talks about the feelings of
the squad before and in the early minutes of the game.
The shower room would make an excellent studying-ground for a psy-
chologist, for the actions and reactions of the team are both varied and
interesting to behold. "Pat" Cleary flashes his nationality by adhearing to
a peculiar superstition. He has never played a 'Varsity game with more
than one stocking gracing his shapely shank. Walter Ordway sets not his
cleats to the turf until every knot or suspicion of a knot has been care-
fully removed from his shoes. Some of the fellows are serious, others are
gay. No one feels especially happy. The golden tones of Bing Crosby are
heard and Bill Coleman is received joyfully by his team mates to whom
his mimicry is nearly as pleasant a thing as his playing. Perhaps the
Queer Quartet, DiGravio, Baldovin, Alfano and Gookin will with murder-
ous intent render a stirring ballad of original theme whose title is no less
than "Vincentisio es un Escupatoro" or in English, "Vincent is a sweeper."
Mr. Densmore now takes us to the field of battle. In his position of
center he gets an excellent view of the opening play since he remains back
on the kick-off. He sees his team going down under the kick, some taken
out beautifully, others striding manfully past hopeful interferers to bear
the hapless ball-carrier crashingly to earth. Some very cute little tricks
are practised by linemen in general and centers in particular. We might
mention the really amusing pastime of staving in your opponent's skull
with cleated shoe, lightly nudging your opponent with your elbow so as to
knock out all his teeth, and several other little mannerisms all of which
make the game more enjoyable — to the fans.
It's a beautiful scene at the stadium here today, folks. A record break-
ing crowd is sending cheer after cheer volleying back and forth ; cheer
leaders are performing their gyrations in perfect accord; two bands are
blaring forth school songs of the rivals ; the Red and Black of North con-
trasts effectively with the Blue and White of Quincy ! Numbered in the
crowd are students of both schools, frenzied alumni and staid teachers
whose customary mantle of stoic dignity has been ripped asunder by the
gripping excitement of this terrific struggle between two well-drilled,
fighting football teams.
Forty-five minutes of this thrilling football and still there is no score !
The teams have battled to a dead lock which seems two powerful to break.
Four times has North failed to cash in on Quincy's fumbles. Four times
has this gallant Quincy eleven, fighting within the very shadow of its goal
posts, resisted the attack of coach Donahue's Red and Black invaders.
Passes, punts, placement kicks, end runs, line bucks, in fact all known
ways of advancing the pigskin have figured in the heroic but fruitless at-
tempts of the two outfits to break into the scoring. Only one sad incident
has occurred to mar the pleasant atmosphere of this game, a report that
"Cap" Bryan, North's great triple threat and fighting school idol, is suffer-
ing at Quincy Hospital with a possible fractured hip . . . There's a commo-
tion at the gates. They're bringing Bryan back ! They're carrying him to
the bench and just listen to that crowd!
There are five minutes to play. It's North's ball at midfield. They form
into a single wingback formation, Ryan back. There they go ! Behind
beautiful interference. "Peanuts" Ryan just swept around right end for
25 yards and it's first down for North on Quincy's 20 yard line. They're
lining up in kick formation, Nelson back. The ball is snapped ! It's a pass
to Joly, far down the right side . . . He's in the clear. He's hit by Baldovin
and he's over !
Listen to that crowd ! They've gone crazy ! The police are hard put to
keep them off the field ! What a play that was ! Nelson is back for a place
kick and — he just misses and the score is North 6 — Quincy — with two
minutes to go. North kicks off and Quincy starts a march down the field
with Daley, Asnes, and Ordway doing the ball toting. But they lose the
ball on downs on North's 20 yard line as the game ends ! Next year — North !
Before our next broadcast, hockey and basketball are going to be in full
swing so we'll tell you a little about these
two sports so that you won't forget them in
the light of enthusiasm for football. H.
Kenneth Hudson, a gentleman who estab-
lished Quincy as a hockey town last winter
when he ran his whirlwind outfit within an
ace of the state championship, will undoubt-
edly enter another team in that same Bay
State League which his charges nearly
copped last year. His prospects look ex-
ceedingly bright as he will have on hand
such seasoned veterans as Bill Coleman,
Pat Cleary, Walter Ordway, Vic and Bud
Gavaza and Joe Neeley. Two promising
sophomores, Wilcox and Lundin are ex-
pected to bolster up the defenses.
Basketball prospects look bright with last
year's sophomore unit expected to form the
nucleus of the team. The yearling outfit
showed great power last winter and it was only a lack of experience that
kept them from breaking more regularly into the starting lineups. The
members of the team are; DiGravio, Ollila, Dunn, Pearson, McCollum, Alm-
strom and Avery. The 'Varsity men back are MacMulkin, Kangas, Smol-
lett and Pendergast. All in all it looks like a cozy winter for the local sports
fiends with two promising teams in the making.
We hope you have enjoyed our little program, folks.
GALLING all sports readers! Calling all sports readers! Coach
George Wilson's first call for cross-country candidates resulted
in over forty-five harriers rallying for the first workout. Among
the veterans who reported were Captain Irving Patten, Howard
Davis, Allan Whitelaw, and Ralph Wheeler, a strong nucleus for another
undefeated team. After several weeks of muscle conditioning and stam-
ina building, time trials were held and Captain Irving Patten, Howard
Davis, Ralph Wheeler, Allan Whitelaw, George Deveau, Fred Brennion,
Jack MacCarthy, Toivo Nousio and Paul Lyons made Varsity. Calling all
sports readers. Calling all sports readers
Howdy listeners ! Here we are down in Braintree bringing you a word
picture of the finish of the race between Quincy High and Braintree High.
What a race! — What a race! The lithe figure of Baker from Braintree
High is just breaking the tape for first place after completely running
away from the remainder of the field. Here come Davis, Milne, Patten,
Evans, Briggs, Wheeler; and Whitelaw, Nousio, Deveau, Countway, and
Thayer, tie. Quincy wins 26-37. What a race ! . . . .
Sports flash! Quincy cross-country team whips Arlington 27-28 in a
bitter race over the latter's course The meet is packed with thrills. Howard
Davis of Quincy loses first place to Captain Hall of Arlington over the
last hundred yards of the race. They are followed by Patten, Evans,
Cronin, Hanlon, Brennion, and Wheeler. Please stand by for a moment . .
Station S-O-C-C-E-R on the air broadcasting from Faxon's field during
one of its practice sessions giving you a
week-to-week account of its activities. —
O.K. "Doc" Whiting! Take it away!
Hello sports followers! This year on ac-
count of the financial conditions of the ath-
letic association, I have been forced to take
over Tommy Fleming's position as coach
of the soccer team. The team deserves more
time than I can give it with its informal
eight game schedule.
Three games have been played already.
We opened the season at Exeter, New
Hampshire where we were tied 1-1 by the
Exeter men in a fast, clever game. Then
we met New Bedford High and after a tense, rugged game, we were forced
to take it on the chin by a 2-1 score. In the third combat we met North
Quincy High. At last we struck the form we had attempted to reach in
earlier contests, handing the Northerners their loss.
The regular Varsity team boasts Jim Shearer and Stewart Steele, full-
backs; Henry Galbcrg, Russ Sullivan, and George Anderson at the inter-
mediate positions ; Eddie Pyne, John Robertson, John Logan, Jimmy Mc-
Guire, and Chisholm, forwards; and Power, goal.
KELLO, sports fans ! Here we are again with the latest inside story
on Q. H. S. girls' athletics. Each class wins a championship in
the fall sports this year. The Sophs beat the Juniors 4-3 in tennis,
and scored a surprise upset over the Seniors, 4-2. Frances Bax-
ter, Priscilla Baxter, Ruth Bissett, Iola Calderone, Iris Stelfox, Margaret
Morin, Tyyne Torvi, and Mary George are the girls of the racquet.
The Juniors, led by Captain Christina Brown, whisked away school
soccer championship. The first game with the Seniors held a scoreless tie ;
but in the second, Miss Brown scored the only goal, the winning point for
her team. Isabelle McAuley, Mary Grazioso, Eileen Murphy, Edith Mos-
cardelli, Sigrid Huovinen, Margaret Mattson, Claire Giarusso, Rita Duffy,
Aili Karhu, Captain Chris Brown, Miriam Larson and Reva Paven have
earned their "Q's".
Captained by Helen Spadorcia, the Seniors won the Field Hockey title
after defeating the Juniors 1-0, and the
Sophs 6-1. The champs, whose names you
have heard over this network before, are:
Captain Helen Spadorcia, Dot Brown, Mar-
garet Crichton, Margaret DeWiee, Ethel
Hollman, Mary Little, Esther Osberg, Anna
Sheehan, Mae Smith, Marjorie Smollett,
Georgiana Gillan, Martha Greenwood, and
Avis Walker, Basketball candidates have al-
ready signed up, and play will soon be under
way. Tune in the same station next issue,
and until then
The King of Jazz
[Continued from page 19]
people who gave him opportunities for stardom. Mr. Whiteman has a
great liking for Bing who he said is the "best of the best." Probably all
of us will agree to that.
I was interested but surprised to learn that Paul Whiteman's son has
shown so far no interest in music, but he is a great admirer of Ben Bernie.
After a few more minutes of pleasant talk, the back-stage light flashed
red, giving Mr. Whiteman exactly six minutes to appear in the wings of
the spacious Keith stage, ready for his cue. With the old philosophical
story on his lips "Back to Work" and a pleasant good-bye, Mr. Whiteman
stepped forth to delight another Boston audience. A few minutes later I
heard a thunderous applause greet the popular "King of Jazz."
IN BEHALF OF OUR WATERBOYS
DO one has ever written a literary or artistic composition concern-
ing our water boys, or, if we must stoop so low, ever mentioned
them ; the boys who in spite of wind or rain will always carry on.
When we attend a football game we see no one but our idols
who prance and strut about the field amid the wild screams and cries of the
howling mob, while our water boys, like Venus at the pump, fill their
buckets and, with head held high, totter back to their places at the bench
and await patiently for the cry of "water" from the field. But when our
demi-gods are injured, who runs out to assist them, and slops water all
over their already muddy uniforms ; who nearly drowns them in over-eleva-
tion of fancy at helping out a fellow team-mate? Who, when the whistle
has blown at the end of the half and the cheering section echoes with the
clamoring and loud proclaiming of the names of the heroes who have
fought bravely and have scored, runs out to take towels to them, and then
staggers back carrying their warm-up jackets and the extra footballs, plus
their own ever-present pails? Do they get any applause or tribute, or is
any honor bestowed upon them; in fact, is even gratitude expressed?
What are we going to do for these valiant and courageous youths who
endure the banter and satire of the riotous assembly with a look on their
countenance of happiness and peace, which comes only to those who have
answered the call?
Steak and Potato
[Continued from page 6]
was all too evident that the tramp did not wish to work that day.
Once inside again Dick was told by the meat and vegetable cook that
they were nearly out of chicken. They would need more for supper.
"I'd better call up Foster's for about eighteen pounds of dressed fowl to
be delivered in an hour," decided Dick.
"About twenty-three would be safer."
Dick went to the telephone and began to ring, but a cackle made him
"Yes, and I've seen neither hide nor hair of him since I left the hospital
that afternoon. John was always sensitive and I suppose the scars were
terrible. I wish I could help him."
"If he's living, Elsie," said another voice.
"He must be," declared the lady in blue, her voice subsiding to a plain-
tive tone. "I wonder if he ever goes hungry."
America's Court Queen
An Interview by Oliver Kangas
and Toivo Nousio
XT was one brisk Monday morning in October that we sat in the
attractive library of Mrs. Leslie A. Friend of Melrose waiting to
meet Miss Helen Jacobs, queen of American tennis courts. While
we were nervously trying to imagine how our subject would ap-
pear with only a poor recollection of a picture we had seen in a newspaper
to guide us, in walked a figure attired in a chic blue and white pa jama
ensemble accompanied with white furred slippers. Could this amicable,
alluring young lady of the brown hair and hazel eyes be Helen Jacobs?
In a few seconds our hopes were confirmed. We found Miss Jacobs as
pleasant in words as in looks. Then we fired the barrage of questions.
"Where were you born and educated, Miss Jacobs?"
"I was born in Bisbee, Arizona and attended a girls' school in Berkeley,
California and later the University of California."
"What first started you off on your tennis career?"
"Through a mistake my name was entered in the 1923 Pacific Coast
Tennis Championship at Berkeley, California and favored by luck I made
the semi-finals. Since then I have participated in all sorts of tournaments
in this country as well as in Europe."
"What has been the greatest aid in your achieving the position of being
the foremost tennis player in the United States?"
"The instructions I have received from "Big Bill" Tilden, Mrs. George W.
Wightman, Howard Kinsley, and several other well-known tennis players."
"What are the general requirements of a person wishing to be a better-
than-average tennis player?"
"One must have natural ability or practice assiduously the mechanics of
tennis. A person should not play tennis to win but to emphasize certain
tennis principles and perfect difficult shots."
"What do you think about the professional field of tennis?"
"Professional tennis has its place, yet here in the United States it is still
in its infancy. Our professionals are made up mostly of dethroned amateur
tennis champions, while in Europe, where professional tennis has a very
high standard, the pros have made it their vocation from the beginning
and in most cases have never played as amateurs."
"What are your plans for the near future?"
"I expect to take part in the Wightman Cup matches in 1934. At present
I am planning to write for magazines and newspapers during the coming
winter since writing has always had the greatest appeal of a number of in-
terests, tennis included. If successful I may make it my vocation."
Our last question answered, we thanked Miss Jacobs for her time, prom-
ised to send her a copy of our magazine, and retired, regretfully knowing
all good things must come to an end.
In the Depths
[Continued from p*ge 14]
"Haul up the mooring line quick!" he shouted into his helmet, speaking
slowly and plainly so that there would be no mistaking his orders. After
repeating it twice he felt the rope tighten and they started upward. The
deck of the S-40 faded out of sight.
Although they were rising fast, hours seemed to pass before the stage
was reached. Phil propped his friend against the side and hung on. Breath-
lessly he shouted :
"No decompression. Haul us up quick!"
Finally the stage rose from the water and swung over the railing to the
deck. Without questions they were rushed to the decompression chamber
and put under pressure.
It was after dark before the pressure was down to normal and they were
carried to their bunks. Evans had regained consciousness after an hour in
the "iron doctor" and was almost his own self by the time he was fully de-
In a few days Tom Evans was diving again and though the incident had
outwardly blown over, it was deeply imprinted upon his memory and in
his heart a stronger bond of friendship had grown for his shipmate.
The Romance of Names
[Continued fp-tn page 8J
vorite places over the globe, and become acquainted with towns and
countries whose names I have come to love. And What Cheer, Iowa, will
be one of the first stops. Rockaway and Point Pleasant, New Jersey, sound
like two ideal places for such a lazy person as I, and Spring Hill, England,
reminds one of a Stevenson poem. It has the lilt and freshness of eternal
spring in its name, and one cannot imagine winter coming to such a place.
So could I go on giving innumerable instances of charming names, but I
shall leave you your own enchantment to make. Just remember that the
only wand you need is a sparkling imagination.
38 = — — ==
TAKIT OR LEAVIT
One of our most
ates, George Will-
iams, is spending
his spare time
painting his house
to the tune of "I
Wake Up Smil-
by his chorus of
Tiger Nugent, that well-known
sartorial authority on what the
well-dressed man will wear, has
been appointed official tailor to
The only way study pupils in the
hall can tell the time is to read the
Alex and Gus Kuhns, those two
most violent advocates of the fu-
tility of education, are back at the
old Alma Mammy taking P. G's.
What would happen if Mr.
Rhinehalter should be stricken
with aphonia? (loss of speech).
We have heard that Jack Gates
will write a treatise on how to
waste time successfully.
How many know that our aus-
tere vice principal is taking up a
correspondence course on detec-
tive work and how to get your
The sophomores have discovered
there is no school Saturdays.
Did you know that Jack Can-
non's ambition is to be a glass
♦ * *
"An effigy is a simile of a man."
So That's the Trouble?
Miss Connolly: What does a busi-
ness do whose routine becomes
Voice: Commits suicide.
* * *
Tarr (in Biology) : How do the
butterflies eat when they're flying
Satterlund: They pack a lunch.
^ * *
Miss McHardy: What is a grub
Patten : Those are the ones we eat.
* * *
It's no wonder that Ed McLeod
is sprucing out in lots of new
clothes — he takes up the collection
at church now.
* * *
Not Even Sheepish
Mr. Briggs (in Geometry) : Cos-
saboom — next example.
Bob: Oh! I can't do this work,
but I don't want to pull the wool
over your eyes — I came in here to
learn how to make figures.
* * *
Speaking of Nudists
Sign on Tennis Court: Players
must wear tennis shoes only.
* * *
Ordway (to fair friend) : Say,
did you ever try listening to a
teacher with your eyes shut?
She : No, did you ever try listen-
ing to one with your mouth shut?
* * *
A Complete Wreck
He spoke in an English derelict.
POPULAR SCHOOL SONGS
Dozing in the study hall.
"Stay Out of My Dreams"
"Butterflies in the Rain"
Going home on a rainy day.
"I'll Be the Meanest Man in Town"
Mr. Wilson in detention.
"One Hour With You"
"Try a Little Tenderness"
To the teacher at the end of five
"I Can't Believe It's True"
Quincy beats Brockton.
"Till the Shadoivs Retire"
"Let's Try Again"
"A Little Street Where Old Friends
The first floor corridor.
"That's My Weakness Now"
Mr. Collins making jig-saw puz-
zles out of hall scraps.
"Stringing Along on a Shoestring"
"Who's Afraid of the Big Bad
A call to Mr. Wilson's office.
"Hold Your Man"
The football tackle.
"Bless Your Heart"
"Don't Blame Me"
Dropping a milk bottle in the
"The Last Roundup"
fTou know I B M q UIT6 „ UTERBRf
PERSOU I Hsve COWTRlBuTeO To
■yi . THe "QTI RMTIC WOIUTMLY'.^
Quite a Tie-up
Miss Giles: What is a Moor?
Al Keith: I've heard about
mooring a boat. Get the connec-
Joan : Oh I
(In test) What does
know, love and
The Old Family Essay
Miss Giles: Sam, I'm going to
write a note to your father and
tell him how poor this essay is.
Asnes : 0. K. by me — he wrote
* * *
90° in the Moon
Miss Nead: The days in Gren-
oble, France are very hot.
French Student : Never mind the
days, how about the nights?
Miss Nead : They're pretty hot,
* * *
Godfrey was dressed up in his
Teacher in history class: What
happened in 1483?
Student promptly: Luther was
Teacher: What happened in 1487?
After a long pause : Luther was
four years old.
Hand Drawn Work
Advertisement: We do not tear
your laundry cruelly by machines,
we do it carefully by hand.
Lempi : I'm getting a permanent
Lempi: Head, stupid!
* * *
We call Fairfield brown "Sugar"
because he's sweet, but not refined.
* * *
Miss Giles: The brain is like a
sponge, it absorbs what surrounds
it and then it's up to me to —
Norling: Squeeze it!
With profound apologies to
0. O. MdNTYRE
Milk and spinach I abhor
Sewing and housework I deplore
In math and science nihil's my
Snakes and snobs I'd like to claw.
Good books and bikes have fascina-
For jet-black cats I've kitty ration
Radio lights are a sensation
And journalist's my avocation.
Other things that I dislike
Are teachers who are always right
Those meticulously polite
And my unpardonable height.
Loads of carmels I could eat
0. 0. 's a columnist I should meet
Leslie Howard is real sweet —
At last this poem is complete.
A MODERN COLUMBUS
As I stepped from the train at the
Grand Central Station,
The people were having a great
Vast crowds were filling the air
with their cheers,
That rattled the windows and
deafened the ears,
I spoke to a girl who was standing
And asked her the wherefore and
also the why.
Said she, "Why, sure, don't you
know that to-day
We honor the noted Sir Henry de
A famous discoverer who visits
Must be greeted with cheers and a
Jale College has made him a Doctor
of Laws ;
Our statutes need doctors to rem-
The papers are full of his state-
ments and views,
What he eats for his breakfast we
read in the news."
She stopped for a breath, and I
questioned her then,
"What did he discover; and how,
where, and when?"
"He's the greatest discoverer the
world's ever seen ;
In some restaurant soup he dis-
covered the bean."
One Arm Lunch
A Latin student: The Romans
lie on one elbow and eat with the
* * *
Miss McHardy : Helen, what is a
Spud : Well, er — it's a man with
his inside out and his outside off.
Quick, A Murad
Soph: I saw a man swallow a
sword last night.
Sachetti: That's nothing. Last
night I saw a man inhale a camel.
He who laughs last, seldom sees
the point anyway.
IT'S NOT TOO EARLY
to start planning what you are going to do after you graduate from
Quincy High School. College may be one of the possibilities, but you
might continue the thought further and plan what you want to be doing
five years after you are out of High School.
Consult Mr. Collins or Miss Harrison about the various careers and
their possibilities. Business is one of the main ones, and in times like
these a great deal of preparation is necessary before entering it. Yes, a
broad education is advisable, and then a training for some special phase.
That's why it's not too early to start planning, and that's why we
invite you to come in to talk the matter over with one of the officers of this
school. We would be very glad to give you our suggestions as to what
courses to take to best prepare for your chosen line of business. If you
have no choice, we might be able to help you decide.
At any rate we hope that it may be convenient for you to come in
(we do not employ any outside salesmen or canvassers) to the school at
the corner of Boylston and Arlington Streets, to talk over your plans for
the future. Or, write or phone L O. White, Principal, Bryant &
Stratton Commercial School, 334 Boylston Street, Boston.
Anchor at a Safe
Port and Eat at
1237 Hancock Street
Ufljelma 3K. ilonea
School of Dancing
All types of Stage Dancing and
Em Milton — Q lincy — Adams Shore
Phone Granite 4540-W
GJljarles A. Sosa
25 Temple Street - Quincy, Mass.
Patronize Golden-Rod Advertisers
Mattson & Nare
390 GRANITE STREET
1487 Hancock St.
The Biggest Selection of
H. A. Sandberg
$1.98 and $2.98
382 Granite Street
Pleats, Buttons, Plaids, Tweeds
Quincy . Mass.
Black, Brown, Green, Maroon
Patterson Flower Stores
Barden Cream Co
ELSIE M. PATTERSON
D. H. MOONEY
Florist and Decorator
192 GRANITE STREET
Granite 0392-W 1259 Hancock Street
New Tuxedos for Hire
Rented — Repaired — Sold
Fountain Pens, Stationery
|" — rlllj
CAPS and GOWNS
Tel. Pres. 5131 3 Temple Street
DRESS SUITS-CUTAWAYS '
9 Years Advertising in Golden. Rod
111 Summer Street, Boston
Wool worth 15ld., Providence, R.I.
1248 Hancock St., Quincy
Fresh Flowers for All Occasions
Stores have upheld
a standard in
for 34 years
1177 HANCOCK ST.
39 FRANKLIN ST.
7 A fN > "%
1555 Hancock St.
A Complete Assortment of
ilason'a ffiuggage anb
Musical Instruments & Supplies
Trunk, Bag and Leather Goods
Tel. Granite 6429-W
1514 Hancock Street - - Quincy
19 COTTAGE AVE
Our funeral home pro-
vides without extra cost
a dignified, impressive set-
ing for a service that is
complete in every detail.
TEL: Presided 2670
In response to many requests we have
established a Special Price to students
only — on days when school is in ses-
Come down and enjoy our
Feature Picture for 15 cts.
Patronize Golden-Rod Advertisers
Ask For It By Name
The Loaf in the Green
WARD BAKING GO.
Arthur B. itoljatt
cyidelle Hat Shop
1460 Hancock St.
QUINCY . . cTWASS.
390 Water Street
Edward A. Scolomeino
233 Copeland St.
Quincy . Mass.
money here! ^^^^T ^^L ^^^^^^VA/^^^^*^^*. ' Today!
265 Granite Strec
t, Quincy, Mass.
Patronize Golden-Rod Advertisers
A Flattering Likeness Reasonable Prices
Sandberg gives you non-fading proofs,
large heads at no extra cost
1479 Hancock Street - - - Quincy, Mass.
Miller's Shoe Store
Expensive Shoes at
Inexpensive Prices !
1631 Hancock St., Quincy
The Monroe Shoe Go.
The Granite Shoe Store
Popular Priced Footwear
for Men, Women
1453 Hancock St., Quincy
Bicycles Radios Sporting Goods
Harley- Davidson — Indian
C. E. CROUT
11 Cottage Avenue, Quincy
Moorhead's Shoe Store
BOSTONIAN and FlORSHEIM
ENNA JETTICK and FOOT DELIGHT
1547 HANCOCK STREET
Gust J. Puska
Real Estate & Insurance
13 COPELAND STREET
2 Copeland St., W. Quincy
John W. Lindroos
107 Garfield Street Quincy
Patronize GolrJtn-Rod Adverser
SCHOOL of ENGINEERING
Co-operating with engineering
SCHOOL of BUSINESS
the nachelor of Science degree in
offers courses leading to the d <* y r t* e
the following branches of engineer-
Civi E ngineering
Banking and Finance
The co-opc r
Mice. It enables the student to esu
n his tun her
i >r Men and Women)]
' ■ rrrmplfll r a o 1 1 1 - • ■
, . ' ■ ...
t' .1 [uilhcr ■ ■ . <nt.
!: ool of I :
! ■ , -
til ' Case me
poiitioni in butincit. Outstandingly lue- bett d
"'<•■ A ichoo
H B.A. »nd MBA. degrr. »eedi
Individual rnuriri alto itailahlr to special Alumni
led to the
( industei of Quin
i .' - k •
I may be adm
the Department of A
Ind i matlon «•»< upon requc
i !•' I Ad»»i